Kissed
by sasansan1
Summary: The Hogwarts Express is attacked. Students lie unseeing in its hallway. Harry Potter saves the day, but not much else. AU5th year. Eventual HPDG.
1. Chapter 1

_Hey all,_

 _Sorry to take down the original, but as I was editing and re-reading what I had wrote, something a little more interesting occurred to me. Hopefully you're as captivated by this idea as I am. Comments and critiques are always appreciated. If there's something you don't like, please, let me know- that's how you grow as a writer._

 _Thank you for your time. I hope you enjoy._

* * *

The search for a cabin on the Hogwarts Express had never seemed to take so long, at least in Harry's memory. Hermione had snatched Ron away, refusing to be less than ten minutes early for the pair's first Prefect meeting, while Ginny, with a quick apology, had run into Michael Corner and ducked into his compartment to get reacquainted. So, keenly aware that he was alone, Harry had proceeded to go door-to-door, doing his utmost to search for a friendly face as unobtrusively as he possibly could.

It did not go well.

Very quickly, the reigning Triwizard Champion discovered that not only had any adulation of his most recent accomplishment grown stale, it had downright curdled. Apparently, the Daily Prophet had spread their version of Harry; the image of a deluded and vainglorious Boy Who Lived. a perception that, to Harry's dismay, reached as far as his own dormitory, if Seamus Finnegan's stiff, "Sorry, full," was anything to judge by.

With growing desperation, and only a few doors to go, Harry threw caution to the wind and spun into the next open compartment he came across. In his haste, he banged his trunk against the lip of the doorframe, jamming his knee in the process. Cursing under his breath, he pulled it in with an almighty heave and almost fell into a seat, rubbing his leg.

"Alright, Potter?" Came a wry voice from the seat across from him.

Harry looked up, his emerald eyes meeting amused grey ones. He flushed- she was extremely pretty, and he was absolutely positive she saw his less than graceful entrance. Inwardly, he cursed his impatience; surely the compartment could've waited for one second, if not five?

"Er, sorry, do you mind if I..?" He gestured around vaguely, trying to present an air of nonchalance.

"Not at all," the girl said, eyes flicking back down to the book she'd been reading before Harry had entered. Harry couldn't help but admire her golden tresses, wreathing her face in soft, glowing ringlets.

He paused, uncomfortably. "Thanks," he finally replied, relieved. Grabbing his trunk, he situated it on the rack above him, not knowing what else to do. He looked out the window, marveling at the speed at which the country flew by. Eventually, though, he grew bored.

"What're you reading?" he asked, turning hopefully, seizing on the only topic of conversation immediately available to him.

The blonde in the seat across from him raised a well-shaped eyebrow. Rather than respond, she tossed her book over to Harry, who caught the slightly wild throw with the unerring accuracy of a Seeker. His brow creased.

" _Bubbling Brews and Culinary Crews_?" Harry was confused. "Is this- is this a cookbook?"

The girl across from him lifted her chin. "It's a selection of potions and recipes by Gordon Ramsay, if you must know."

He tossed the book back to her, still not entirely sure he understood what had been said. "So… it is a cookbook, then? As well as a… potions manual?"

She sniffed. "It's not so simple as that. Cooking and brewing are… complimentary arts."

Harry's lips pressed into a frown. "D'you- d'you like potions, then?"

"I do."

His frown deepened.

"But… why?"

For a moment, she looked astounded, as though his question was as absurd as it was stupid.

"Potions is- it's-" she cleared her throat, looking rather embarrassed to have to cast around for speech at such a time. Gathering herself, she looked Harry dead in the eye. "Potions is an art. It's flexible, and dangerous, and _beautiful_."

Harry was completely lost.

"Flexible? Beautiful? I mean, dangerous I can understand, but-"

"That's precisely it," she said, her voice gentle, almost pitying now, "you _don't_ understand."

For a moment, Harry's mouth worked around empty breath, words coming to neither his mind nor his mouth. Of course he understood potions, he wanted to say. Of course it was dangerous, but flexible? Snape scrawled instructions at the beginning of class, to be followed with exactitude. And beautiful? Harry could have snorted - the foulest smells and most unappealing colors he had ever seen had all taken place in the cauldron sat in front of him in the dungeons.

"Fine," he managed, although he waited like a coiled snake to rebuke whatever she was going to say, "What's beautiful about it? Flexible, even?"

The girl- whose name still escaped Harry- took a second to collect her thoughts. She did this often, he realized, she paused to ensure whatever she spoke was exactly what she meant.

"So… you've seen the book."

Harry cocked his head.

"Do you agree?" Harry just looked her, so she clarified, "Do you agree that potions is like cooking?"

"I - I suppose," he said hesitantly, though he'd never made such a connection before.

"Good. Ingredients and recipes," the girl continued, holding out her hands as though weighing the two, "steps and results. One informs the other."

Harry found himself nodding, though his mind was flying through the various combinations of the words she uttered. He could not, he discovered, counter with anything that he, in good faith, believed.

"Basically, you have materials and a guide," she said, carrying on, regardless of Harry's internal conflict. "But really, all that matters is where you're going, right?" She waited for his affirmative.

Haltingly, Harry nodded.

"Exactly," she continued, "so, if you have the materials and the guide, and you know where you're going you can… figure out shortcuts, or even take a detour. Does that make sense?"

And, in fact, it did.

"So that's what potions is like- for me, at least. And that's what cooking is like, too. You identify your end goal, and, just, you know, go for it." The girl looked slightly self-conscious at the end of this, not meeting Harry's eyes for the first time in their conversation.

"I… never thought of it that way," he finally admitted, after a long pause.

She shrugged, still looking slightly embarrassed, if the angle of her body was anything to judge by. Steadfastly, she held both her shoulders and toes away from Harry, pointing them out the window instead.

"I'm not sure many do, honestly. But then," she allowed, her upper body relaxing a bit, "not many purebloods know how to cook."

"You're a pureblood?" Harry asked automatically, shifting forward in his seat. He hadn't met many purebloods. Save for the Weasleys and the Malfoys- and, he supposed, Sirius- he really couldn't call any to mind.

"I am," the girl uttered proudly, lifting her chin just the slightest bit. "Back to my great-great-grandmother and grandfather, at the very least."

"And… what do you know about them?"

"Not much," the girl admitted, giving a slight shrug. "My grandmother came here from Bulgaria, and she met my grandfather here. The Greengrass have always been in Britain- at least, as long as we remember- and she married into the family."

Suddenly, Harry realized that this girls finely wrought features were somewhat familiar. The angle of her chin, the shade of her eyes, the bearing of her shoulders… yes, he knew her, he was certain.

"Greengrass…" he said slowly, realization dawning on him. "You're Daphne Greengrass! You're in my year."

"I am," Daphne stated, unimpressed. "Is that a surprise to you?"

Embarrassed that it had taken him so long, that he'd even forgotten in the first place, Harry shook his head, even though he felt his cheeks heating up.

"N-no, not at all. I recognized you."

"Of course you did," she stated flatly, surveying him with slightly narrow eyes, the grey in them deep like a storm cloud. For a moment she held him, transfixed, in a gaze like steel, then she sighed, breaking eye contact to look out the window. "I suppose Harry Potter had better things to do than learn the names of his Slytherin classmates."

"Well, you'll forgive me if I was a bit concerned for my own life," Harry bit back, trying and failing to remain civil. If anything, his words amused Daphne. She put the book on the seat beside her, crossing her arms.

"In class?"

Harry shook his head, cheeks still hot.

"You know what I meant."

"I did," Daphne admitted, letting the edges of her lips twist up in a wry smile. She couldn't explain why, but she enjoyed keeping others off-balance; with the Boy Who Lived, it was even more entertaining. She decided to throw him a lifeline:

"Really, Potter, there's nothing to be embarrassed about. For the life of me, I could name maybe half of the Hufflepuffs in our year. There _are_ more important things."

"Yeah," replied the dark haired boy, finally leaning back into his seat with an exhalation of air, "you're telling me."

Daphne said nothing, as she felt nothing needed to be said. Instead, she studied her new train companion, taking in the dark purple rings under his eyes and the nervous tremble of his hand, which rested lightly on the well-worn wood of his wand.

She frowned slightly. Her summer had been spent on the Island of Santorini, basking in the sun and taking full advantage of the cool, clear water of the Aegean. What had Potter had to deal with, she wondered. Suddenly the alleged Dementor attack the Prophet was so quick to scorn seemed conceivable, if unlikely.

"You should sleep," she found herself saying, blushing a bit when he shot her a look, confusion evident in the furrow of his brow. "You just - you look tired."

"I am," he admitted, rubbing his eyes in a familiar gesture. "Long summer."

"How was it?"

Harry seemed to consider the question, turning it over in his head, trying to feel out how much he could reveal.

"Long," he repeated. "Frustrating."

She looked at him expectantly, and he sighed, running a hand through his already-messy hair.

"I just… kept waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

"Anything!"

Her eyes widened slightly, and Harry realized he'd said that a little loud.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly, bringing his hand back up to his hair before resting it behind his neck. "I just- it was- I haven't really been able to relax," he finished, somewhat lamely in his opinion.

"Because of the Dark Lord."

It was a statement, not a question. There was a long silence, and Harry scrutinized her with new eyes. Who was she, this Daphne Greengrass of Slytherin, and what did she know? Immediately he crossed his arms, making sure his hand was over his left pocket, where he kept his Holly wand.

"Yes," Harry said slowly, still watching her closely. "Voldemort."

He waited, expecting her to squeal or flinch or some combination of the two, only to be surprised when she did neither, didn't even blink, in fact. Instead, she raised her chin.

"Yes," she echoed, "Voldemort."

Harry shook his head, half in disbelief, and half because he was impressed. Very few people dared to utter his name, much less with such a minimal reaction. Dumbledore, Sirius, himself… Everyone else, even McGonangall, couldn't suppress a shudder at the Dark Lord's name. And yet Daphne…

"What do you know about-"

 _SCREEEEEEEECH!_

Suddenly, impossibly, forebodingly, the train came to an abrupt halt. The whiplash of such a sudden arresting of momentum catapulted Daphne onto Harry, who could only widen his eyes in shock.

Daphne picked herself up, running her fingers through her hair.

"Sorry about that-"

"Shh!"

Harry wasn't even looking at her. Instead, wand in hand, he moved very slowly towards their door. Cracking it open, he peeked out into the hallway, ignoring the babble of surprised students, looking for hooded robes and a bone white mask.

None were to be found. Rather than relieving Harry, this only served to deepen his concern. He entered the walkway slowly, sharp eyes flitting back and forth, and noticed that Daphne too was beside him, wand out and eyes narrowed.

Then the screaming started.

Harry burst forward, followed close behind by Daphne, heading towards the front of the train where the noise appeared to be coming from. After flying by compartments, weaving his way through the fleeing crowd, he suddenly stopped, as though he'd run into a wall. He heard Daphne's sharp intake of breath as cold, deeper than skin, deeper than bone, wound its way through their bodies.

"Dementors," Harry said warily.

"Can you make a Patronus?" he asked Daphne, without looking back to see her shake her head. She eyed him skeptically.

"Can _you_ make a Patronus?"

"Stay behind me," was all Harry said in reply, walking forward slowly. With each step, the chill tightened its hold, icy fingers grabbing heart and mind alike. His mother began to plead for her life in his head. Up ahead, behind the fleeing students, an unnatural darkness blackened the hallway, billowing out like a noxious smoke.

Condensation froze on windows, some of which cracked at the temperature drop. Daphne suddenly realized she could see her breath.

"Stay behind me," Harry repeated, inching forward. Drawing closer, the blonde Slytherin repressed a shudder. She had never known the Dementor's touch, and wished to never know it again. A memory flashed through her mind, unbidden, of the day on the lake when her sister nearly drowned. Astoria's gasping, rattling breath sounded loudly in her ears.

Ahead of them, several cloaked figures swooped lazily. Behind them lay bodies, slouched against the walls and sprawled on the floor. Their hearts beat, their lungs whooshed out air, but their eyes were open and unseeing.

"Expecto Patronum!" Harry intoned, and a shining stag erupted from the tip of his wand. Instantly it lowered its magnificent rack of antlers, charging forward at a gallop. It gored one Dementor, which let out a shriek that Daphne was sure she would never forget, and kicked out at another.

Still screaming, the Dementors swirled around the stag before escaping through the windows in a crash of broken glass.

Daphne ran forward, checking on the prone figures.

"They were Kissed," she said softly, her own voice sounding foreign to her ears, "all of them."

Harry let out a strangled shout, bounding forward so quickly Daphne jerked her head up to see if the Dementors had returned. But no, Harry had peered into a nearby compartment- the Prefects Compartment- and made a horrifying discovery.

Seated there, faces blank and unassuming, were the Prefects: Ron, Hermione, even Malfoy.

And they'd been Kissed as well.

* * *

 _AN: Thank you for reading! I'm not 100% sure where I'm going with this, but it should be an interesting journey to say the least. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it._


	2. Chapter 2

_Hey all,_

 _Thanks for the enthusiasm you've taken to this story with! It's heartening and motivating to read your support. Shoutout to one of my reviewers, who identified a little mistake I made in the first chapter: Harry's wand is indeed Holly, and not Yew. Good catch. I hope you enjoy what I've written. Feel free to let me know what you think, critiques and otherwise._

 _Enjoy!_

 _Jason_

* * *

Ron and Hermione, wands in hand. Ernie MacMillan, sprawled across Hannah Abbot as though to shield her. Draco Malfoy, crumpled near the door at Pansy Parkinson's feet as she slumped against the wall. Padma Patil still held a book, while Anthony Goldstein had his face pressed against the window.

Harry was completely silent, his brain seemed to have frozen. Despite the Dementors departure, he had never felt colder; his heart beat loudly in his ear, and he felt a sick rushing feeling in the pit of his stomach.

They were gone. Blood still flowed through their veins, and their lungs still filled and emptied, but they were shells, nothing more than corpses with heartbeats. Never again would Harry play chess with Ron, or steal Hermione's notes on History. No more visits to Hagrid, or trips to Hogsmeade.

The train slowly began to move again, rocking back and forth as it did so. It jostled both Anthony Goldstein and Pansy Parkinson from their slumped positions against the wall, and they toppled wordlessly, joining Malfoy on the floor, like so many dolls.

"Harry."

Some small part of his brain registered a tugging on his wrist.

Malfoy could have been sleeping, were his eyes not open. Something about the way his neck was angled made Harry think back to a dark night in the outskirts of a graveyard, and for a second it was Cedric Diggory, not Draco Malfoy, dead on the floor.

"Harry."

The tugging grew more insistent.

Goldstein had been on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, Harry remembered. Chaser, he was. Wood had always schemed specifically around him. And Padma, she had been Ron's date to the Yule Ball. Harry had asked her. She'd worn a yellow dress, and danced with a Bulgarian before the night was up.

"Harry!"

It was Daphne, trying to turn him. Reluctantly, he allowed her to lead him back down the hallway, around the bodies of other fallen students.

Ernie had been accepted at Eton, Harry recalled suddenly. He almost didn't come to Hogwarts. And Hannah had helped him in Charms last year, had sat next to him, had cheered when he finally banished his teacup. She hadn't worn a _Potter Stinks!_ badge last year. He'd never thanked her, and now he never would.

Gone. All gone.

Daphne gently pushed Harry into a compartment. A game of Exploding Snap, half-finished, cards still smoking, lay forgotten on one of the seats. They took the bench opposite, Daphne clearing off odd bits of trash and a mass of spilled Every Flavor Beans.

Harry fell, more than sat, into the seat. Through the fog in his brain, he noted with some surprise that he was bleeding from a cut on his arm. He idly wondered where that had come from, perhaps a bit of glass?

"Harry, look at me."

Daphne sounded as though she were a long ways away. He turned to her, confused, and tried to focus on her face. She had his hands clasped in hers, he realized, and he was shaking. They both were.

Her grey eyes were soft.

"Just try to breathe."

Breathing. Harry closed his eyes, only to reopen them almost instantly. When he closed his eyes, the morbid tableau of the Prefects Compartment was there, as though seared into the backs of his eyelids.

"They're… gone," he finally croaked, speaking around the lump in his throat. His voice sounded strange to his ears. "All of them."

"No," Daphne said strongly, shaking his hands in hers to emphasize her words. "Not all of them."

Numbly, Harry nodded.

"Right," he breathed, "not all of them."

But all he could think of were Ron and Hermione. Only an hour ago, they were walking side-by-side on the platform, laughing at Fred and George's antics. "We'll see you later, Harry," Hermione had said, pulling Ron along with her into the Prefects Compartment. The redhead had mouthed the word 'help' to him before the door shut.

Harry finally began to cry. His tears burned hot tracks down his face, and his breaths were so ragged they hurt his chest. He was shaking so hard, he thought he might fall apart. He certainly felt like it, although, not if Daphne had anything to do with it, as she wrapped him up tightly in her arms and held him close to her chest.

"Shh" she whispered, unshed tears shining bright in her stormy eyes, cradling him like she used to with Astoria after a bad dream. "It's going to be alright," she crooned repeatedly, one hand stroking Harry's messy black hair.

"It's going to be alright."

And it would, Daphne knew it would. She just didn't know when, or how.

Gradually, Harry's tremors slowed, though his breathing remained harsh. He stiffened slightly, and Daphne took the cue, releasing her hold around him. Jaw working furiously, Harry swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, nearly knocking his glasses off.

"I should have been there. I should have been faster."

"Look-"

"I should have known, should have taught them the Patronus. Hermione could have done it she's," Harry paused, and swallowed hard, "she _was_ , the brightest witch I've ever met."

"I'm sorry."

"You're _sorry_?" Harry's vacant gaze sharpened, emerald eyes piercing Daphne's grey. The sudden outburst of anger focused him, startled him from his reverie, and he seized it, held it close like a drowning man. "What do you know about- how could you- THEY WERE MY BEST FRIENDS! MY FIRST FRIENDS! AND THEY'RE DEAD, WORSE THAN DEAD, BECAUSE OF ME."

"Harry-"

"WE'LL NEVER FLY AGAIN, NEVER LAUGH AGAIN. THEY JUST MADE PREFECT, THEY WERE GOING- WE WERE GOING TO-"

"Harry-"

"IT'S MY FAULT, MY FAULT THAT THEY'RE DEAD! I SHOULD HAVE- I COULD HAVE-"

" _Potter!"_

His mouth continued to work, but no sounds emerged. Daphne had stood, furious, wand still trained on him from when she'd Silenced him. And when she spoke, her voice shook with barely controlled rage.

" _Listen_ Potter," she practically spat, "it hurts, I get it. I was _there_. You think I don't understand? You're right, I _don't_. But let me tell you one thing," she hissed, jabbing her wand at him, sparks flying out the end of it, "I have a _sister_. I have _friends._ And every person, every body, every step of the way, I hoped to _Merlin himself_ I wouldn't find myself staring into Astoria's dead, grey eyes. So don't," she growled, shoving her wand back in her pocket, " _presume_ to yell at _me_."

He opened his mouth to respond, forgetting he was still silenced, and looked confused for a moment. Daphne didn't see it, or if she did, she didn't care. She crossed her arms, leaning forward, almost touching her nose to his.

"Oh _and another thing_ ," she added venomously, "this is _your_ fault? How dare you, _how dare you_. Did you send the Dementors? Huh? _No,_ you didn't, you chased them away. Are you in charge of- of _protecting_ the Hogwarts Express? No. But you did. Something no one else on this bloody train could have done. So you didn't save everybody, _big deal_. You saved me. You saved my sister. So cry all you want, Potter, but you're not _allowed_ to feel bad for doing the right thing."

She sat down abruptly, not looking at Harry. For a long while they stewed in silence, the only sound the clackclackclacking of the tracks and the rushing of air through broken windows. Eventually, Harry tapped her hesitantly on the thigh, leaving a small streak dust as he did so.

Spinning around, brows still creased, Daphne readied herself to yell at him again, only to stop when she saw him tapping his throat, an unspeakable question in his eyes and the tilt of his head.

" _Finite_ ," she muttered, twisting back to glare out the window.

He cleared his throat, testing out that he could in fact speak again, before heaving a long sigh.

"I'm… sorry," he grated out hesitantly, eyes fixed on a stain on the floor. "I shouldn't have yelled."

"No," Daphne said with a sigh of her own, "you shouldn't have. But I get it," she added, "it's horrible. I don't understand, thank Merlin, but I know it can't be easy. I really am sorry, Harry."

He nodded wordlessly.

"I shouldn't have yelled like that either," Daphne admitted, chancing a glance at him. He had hunkered into the seat, elbows pressed to his thighs, massaging his temples with dirty fingers. "I was… a little harsh too. It's just-" she took a shuddering breath, "I knew people too, y'know? And it's just… I can't even put it into words."

"Yeah," Harry breathed, "yeah."

They were silent a while longer. Outside the window, trees and fields began to bleed away in the fading light. The first stars peeked out in the growing darkness. The moon was gone tonight, hiding its shining face behind a bank of clouds.

"I never had a family," Harry began softly, taking out his wand and twisting it between his fingers. "Never had friends, either, really. Not until Hogwarts."

Wordlessly, Daphne put her hand on his thigh, gripping gently. He tensed, but said nothing.

"Ron, he-" Harry gulped, "I met him outside the platform; I didn't know how to get through the barrier. His mum, Mrs. Weasley, she told me how. He," Harry choked back a sobbing laugh, "he had dirt on his nose."

"I never really knew Weasley," Daphne admitted. "I knew Pansy though, and Draco- a lot of the old Pureblood families are really close. We grew up together. He taught me how to fly."

"Ron was the first I heard about Quidditch. We used to play games in his back yard, two-a-side. Sometimes even Hermione joined, to make up numbers. She hated flying."

"I don't much care for it either. She was my partner, once, in Runes, on a project. We finished two weeks before the deadline."

Harry chuckled humorlessly.

"That was Hermione, alright. She used to make us study guides at the start of term. I don't think we'd have passed History of Magic, if not for her notes. I don't…" Several large tears fell, darkening the carpet below him.

"I don't know what I'm going to do without them."

Daphne didn't say anything. There was nothing _to_ say, really. Instead, she gave his thigh another squeeze. It was then that she noticed the shadow outside the window, a robed figure, fingers of wind tearing at it, keeping pace with the train. She tensed, nails digging into Harry's leg, and he looked up with pained surprise.

She nodded her head to the window, withdrawing her wand as Harry stood to get a better look. After a beat, he relaxed.

"That's Kingsley," he said tiredly, reclaiming his seat. "Kingsley Shacklebolt. He's an Auror."

Daphne nodded.

"There must have been Wards on the train alerting the Headmaster," she theorized aloud. "I bet there are squads swarming all over Hogsmeade and the school."

This seemed to comfort Harry, and he leaned back, nestling his head where the wall met his seatback. He was so very, very tired.

"They'll want to talk to us," she added, frowning. "You should get some sleep; it might be a long night."

"Maybe," he allowed, fighting off a yawn. "But I'm not so sure. Dumbledore," he yawned again, "Dumbledore wouldn't like that."

"You may be right," Daphne admitted. She eyed him carefully. "Are you okay to wait here? I want to check on my sister."

"I can come with you, if you'd like," he sighed, but Daphne shook her head, a smile playing at the edges of her lips. Harry's eyes were already fluttering closed.

"You've done more than enough," she said kindly, standing and moving towards the door. She opened it as quietly as she could. "I'll be right back."

Harry didn't reply. He was already asleep.

Closing the door behind her, Daphne took a moment to survey the hallway. Broken glass glittered on the carpet, and several doors twisted off their tracks, windows blown out.

Several person-sized mounds sat or lay, scattered about, unmoving save for a regular rise-and-fall in their chests. Daphne shuddered, flinching back.

She carefully picked her way to the back of the train, debris crunching underfoot. After a time, a distant murmur made itself known, quickly rising to a nervous babble.

Milling about in confusion were the remaining students, more than one of them screaming when Daphne came into view. There were cries of panic, and several older students pulled out their wands.

"No!" cried a high-pitched voice, "Stop! That's my sister!"

Darting forward, a small girl, blonde hair tied back in a ponytail slammed into Daphne, burying her head in her chest. Holding her tight, Daphne pressed a kiss to the top of her head, relief flooding through her.

"Thank Merlin you're okay!" Astoria mumbled into Daphne's shirt, "I've been looking for you the whole time, and, I couldn't find you, and, I was just so worried, because I didn't know what happened, no one knows what's happened, and people were screaming, they were saying-"

"Shh," Daphne said, stroking her head. "It's alright ladybug, we're safe."

Sniffling, Astoria slapped Daphne's shoulder lightly.

"D-don't call me that."

Just then several students came forward. A round-faced boy, and a red haired girl she recognized as Weasley's sister. Close behind them were two stockier redheads- the twins, Fred and George.

"Have you seen my brother?" The girl demanded, eyes frantic. "Have you seen Harry?"

"Or Hermione?" added the round-faced boy- Neville, Daphne recalled.

She nodded. They waited, expectant and anxious and with stomachs full of lead. She held up a finger, gesturing downwards at her sister. With great effort, the four refrained from further questions and nodded.

"Come on ellebug," she whispered in her sister's ear. "Back to your friends."

"But I don't want to leave you," Astoria whined.

Daphne held her at arms length, wiping away tears with her thumb.

"Astoria," she said gently, "I need you to be brave right now. Can you do that for me?"

Hesitantly, her sister nodded, eyes still gleaming with tears.

"Good," Daphne said, pressing another kiss to her forehead. "Now off you go. Tell Matilda I'm okay. I'll see you in the Great Hall. You can sleep in my dorm tonight."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Astoria gave Daphne another fierce hug, then left, the Gryffindors parting to allow her through. Instantly they pressed closer, alarm bordering on panic pronounced in all their expressions.

"Well?" One of the twins, she wasn't sure which, demanded. "Out with it. What's happened?"

Lifting her chin, Daphne steeled herself. Astoria was safe. The train drew them ever closer to Hogwarts. She held that close to her, like a candle in the dark.

"Dementors, at least three. If there were more, I never saw them."

The round-faced boy paled even further. The Weasley girl's mouth dropped open, and her brothers exchanged grave looks behind her.

"And," Ginny asked, her mouth suddenly very dry, "my brother?"

Daphne met the girl's brown eyes with her own grey.

"Kissed," she said grimly. "All the Prefects, the Head Boy and Girl, and several others besides."

Neville's mouth fell open. Ginny let out a tiny moan of horror, and each of her brothers put a hand on her shoulder, gripping so hard their knuckles shone white.

"B-but, Hermione," the Weasley girl stammered, eyes wide, "Harry-"

"Potter's fine," Daphne said, "exhausted, but fine. It's thanks to him we're all alive. As for Granger…" she shook her head. "I'm sorry."

"Are you-" ground out one of the brothers, "are you sure?"

She nodded.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, hating the words even as she spoke them. What were words in the face of such tragedy, in the wake of senseless destruction and lights extinguished?

The Weasley's huddled tightly together, faces white, eyes shining with unshed tears. Neville, slightly removed from the bunch, was still frozen in shock, his jaw still wide.

"I'm sorry," she said again, uselessly, "I-" She wasn't sure what she was going to say, but thankfully she didn't have to, as with a resounding crack and a flash of phoenix flame, the Headmaster appeared several meters behind her.

He looked furious, thunderous. His twinkling blue eyes held none of their typically gentle amusement, instead chips of ice embedded in the creased granite of his face. Daphne felt the power radiating off of him, like heat from a flame. With a wave of his wand, a fierce wind passed through the train, through solid walls and fleshy bodies, from stem to stern, and she flinched at the power of the charm. Whatever that told him must have been good, as he gave a little sigh of relief. Still, his face was grave.

"What," he intoned, projecting his voice across all of his students, "has happened here?"

Instantly they erupted into a cacophony of voices, offering guesses, yelling questions.

A bang erupted from his wand, and they fell silent, slightly fearful.

"Miss Greengrass," he said, piercing her eyes with his own. Even Daphne, who prided herself on her self-control, couldn't suppress a shudder. Those eyes _knew_ things, she was sure. Great things, terrible things. "I believe you could, perhaps, shed some light on the situation?"

She nodded firmly, and he gestured to a compartment to his left. She entered, waiting for him as he addressed the crowd:

"I will tell you what I know, and, I am sure, what many of you have already begun to suspect: The train was attacked, by forces as yet unknown."

He held up his hands, quieting the students.

"I will also tell you that as long as I am here- and make no mistake, I will be here, for you, as long as it takes- you need fear no more. You," he intoned, voice as serious as it had ever been, "are _safe_."

With a swirl of his midnight blue cloak, he turned into the compartment where Daphne sat, waiting patiently.

Heaving a sigh, the Headmaster took his time sitting down, sweeping aside several chocolate frog wrappings with the wave of a hand. Groaning slightly, aged bones creaking, he sat, steepling his fingers and surveying Daphne over his crescent-moon spectacles.

"Speak," was all he said, waiting expectantly. She cleared her throat.

"I was sitting with Potter," she said, after a moment of collection. "Just- talking, really."

The Headmaster inclined his head.

"Go on." Nodding, Daphne continued.

"The train it- it stopped. Suddenly. So suddenly I flew across the seat. But Harry, he knew something was wrong. We ran up the hallway. The students, they were panicked. And then," she gulped, growing goose pimples at the memory, "we heard the screaming."

"Screaming?" Dumbledore's voice was little more than a rumble. Daphne nodded.

"Screaming. We ran towards it, and then," she took a shuddering inhalation, "we felt _them_. The Dementors."

The Headmaster's expression darkened noticeably.

"Dementors, you say?" Daphne nodded.

"At least three, that we saw. There might have been more, but if there were, I never saw them. Harry, he… he cast his Patronus. A stag," she added, though Dumbledore seemed unsurprised.

"It chased them off. But, they'd already done- they'd already Kissed a number of students."

"How many?" the Headmaster demanded, brows creased in a V. "Could you tell?"

"Not exactly," she admitted, "it's… it was hard to look at. At least a dozen: The Prefects, the Head Boy and Girl… and more. They," she inhaled deeply, "they're everywhere. Lying in the hallway, sitting in their compartments. It's horrible."

Dumbledore was silent for a very long time.

"And how is young Harry doing?" Daphne shrugged.

"How do you think? He lost his best friends. He blames himself. He's sleeping, in one of the compartments up ahead."

Instantly the Headmaster stood in a swirl of cerulean.

"Then I must go to him." He began to leave, but Daphne reached out, latching onto the hem of his robes. Dumbledore looked back at her, unspoken questions suspended in his eyes.

"I promised him I'd come back."

For a moment the Headmaster scrutinized her, then he nodded. A suggestion of the old twinkle returned to his gaze, if only for a moment. He offered her a wrinkled hand.

"Of course you did," he said, nodding as though he had always expected it, "and of course you should. Come, Miss Greengrass. Follow me."

She rose wordlessly, mere steps behind the Headmasters flapping cloak. In time, they reached the first of the bodies, and Dumbledore froze, grief etched upon his face in deep lines.

"Carmela McArthur," he muttered gravely, examining the girl who lay before him. "Third year. She loved animals, you know."

Daphne bit her lip. She didn't want to know this, didn't want to think about any more than she had to. Her sister was alive, shouldn't that be enough?

"William Kingsman," the Headmaster intoned again, stopping at another figure. "Sixth year. He planned on becoming an Auror. An exemplary student in Charms, if memory serves."

Dumbledore did that each time he encountered a body, a student, until they reached the compartment where Harry slumbered. Almost thankfully, Daphne ducked inside, immediately settling next to the slumbering Boy Who Lived.

She looked at the Headmaster, whose features transmitted inexpressible sorrow.

"He's so young, Miss Greengrass," he said quietly. "So young for the burdens he must bear."

All she could do was nod, her hand instinctively finding Harry's jet-black hair. The Headmaster arrested her with his gaze, forceful and pleading and grieving, all at the same time.

"Take care of him, please. He means more to me- more to all of us- than you could possibly imagine."

Wordlessly Daphned bobbed and dipped her head. Sighing, Dumbledore lowered his own.

"I thank you," he said, although his voice was a million miles away. "And I pity you. The Prefects' Compartment?"

"Two doors up, on your right," Daphne said instantly. It was irrevocably seared in her mind, that room of bones.

Dumbledore sighed, seeming to collect himself.

"I'm sorry, Headmaster," Daphne said softly.

"As am I, Miss Greengrass," he replied, looking as old as the Earth, older, even. "As am I."

* * *

 _AN: And, as always, thank you for reading. If you enjoyed, please leave a review. If not, leave a review anyway._

 _Thank you for your time, and have a nice day._

 _Jason_


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